


Opposite of Innocent

by iamheather



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Louis, Fluff, I suppose, Loss of Virginity, M/M, One Shot, PWP ish, Roughness, Smut, Top Harry, i feel so awkward tagging this jfc, yea ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamheather/pseuds/iamheather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis had to somehow explain this without sounding like an idiot. Had to shape sentence that would tell Harry that, <em>hey, I watched this kind of mature movie, and I'm officially sick of being a virgin - would you have the honor to change that?</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Opposite of Innocent

**Author's Note:**

> I highly recommend to listen to _How To Love You_ by Loveless (feat. Thomas Eriksen) whilst reading this, since that was one of the songs I listened to on repeat whilst typing out this 6k one-shot. Somewhat humorous songs are also quite fitting, such as Madonna's _Like A Virgin_ , if you want to have a laugh whilst reading the sort of awkward bits.
> 
> Just a quick reminder that English is not my native language, and that there might be some grammatical errors here and there. 
> 
> Now, enjoy 6k words with a lot of unnecessary italics! xx

It's not weird. People do stuff like this all the time. Watch a movie, like it, and then watch it again. And again.

 And _again_.

 At least that's what Louis is currently doing. Watching the same movie for the fifth time in four days, casually palming his cock through his jeans. That's what people do, right?

 Wank to a halfway bad and kind of lame movie, watch it five times for the sake of getting off to the five minutes of a guy grinding his bum against another guy's crotch-- it sounded a bit better inside Louis' head. What else was he supposed to do when he's on the road about 24/7, has cherry that he has yet to pop, and no privacy whatsoever, on a cramped bus with his four band members making much more noise than necessary. Maybe that's why Louis had seated himself at the back of the bus, _the quiet zone_ , as Paul had addressed it. It was cool. Perhaps a bit lonely, but it was good. Good to ease a bit of his stress by coming with white streaks across his stomach four days in a row. It was _good_.

 Except for that one time that Liam had walked in on him, Louis' hand mere inches from sliding underneath the fabric of his bright red boxers. Liam had simply blinked, eyes glued to Louis' hand before excusing himself, leaving Louis with cheeks just as red as his boxers. Kind of killed the mood.

 The days they spent at hotels were the best. He got to spend some time on his own, Google-ing some positions and watching some x- rated videos. _Research_.

 He was getting good at avoiding the lads. Harry was a bit harder, though. The tall man was always around, always making sure that Louis was doing okay, if he felt cold, hungry, sleepy-- he was _protective_ , despite the fact that Louis was a grown man who probably could do just fine on his own. A 22 year old man who could use his own hoodies and sweats, but somehow always ended up wearing Harry's clothes that were either too wide or too long. Sometimes both.

 He could also get off by himself, but somehow he had ended up in Harry's room asking for something he really couldn't expect the younger man to do for him.

 It was incredibly quiet. Louis thanked God that Paul hadn't questioned it when Louis had asked for Harry's room number, other than raising a brow a bit sceptically. He had gotten the right number and a spare key, so it didn't really matter. Louis figured that Harry must've fallen asleep, the room pitch black and the shirt he'd worn today thrown lazily over a chair. Louis jumped when the bathroom door opened, Harry sweeping a hand through his hair as he brushed his teeth, walking towards his suitcase. He stopped abruptly when he spotted Louis, though, holding up a finger, an unspoken _wait here_ , before rushing back to the bathroom to get rid of the mix of salvia and toothpaste in his mouth.

 "What's up?" Harry breathed, walking back out into his bedroom, grabbing a shirt from his suitcase, throwing it over his head. Cracking his fingers, Harry lit the light by his bed, brushing his fingers through his hair yet again.

  _Right_.

 Louis had to somehow explain this without sounding like an idiot. Had to shape sentence that would tell Harry that, _hey, I watched this kind of mature movie, and I'm officially sick of being a virgin - would you have the honor to change that?_ Louis felt sick. No way out of this, though, Harry's eyes were pinned to his, _waiting_. Louis swallowed the lump of fear in his throat, feeling the taste of it linger in his mouth.

 "I-" Harry wasn't helping with this intense state of his, as if he was trying to figure out what Louis needed by staring a hole through his head. "I was wondering if y-you could help me out with this thing," _A sentence_ , at last. He shouldn't be nervous and shaky about asking Harry for a favour, he was a _man_. Or at least he liked to think that he was, despite his blooming interest for blouses and skirts, preferably on himself-- but that's not the point. He was a _man_. He could manage to ask for this.

 "What thing?" Harry easily said, settling himself at the end of his bed, hands on his knees. Louis occupied his own hands by entwining them in front of himself, perhaps a bit awkwardly. The whole situation itself was kind of awkward.

  _Asking for sex_ \- really? What kind of man is he?

 A _desperate_ man, probably.

 "This is going to sound weird," Louis scoffed, trying to play it cool by laughing a bit. It didn't ease Harry's stare. Rubbing his nose and staring off into the room, Louis inhaled and exhaled heavily. "I was wondering if you'd-- if you could--" he mumbled, not letting himself meet Harry's eyes. Those green irises were too focused and not soothing in any sort of way. Louis wanted to turn his head away, twist it around to get rid of the attention Harry was giving him, in hopes of letting the words that tasted so bitterly on his tongue roll out into the room. Let them linger in the air like a cloud that kept showering them with salty drops, hopefully making a rainbow or two; not that he could expect Harry to take this sort of request with ease.

 Harry was silent, though. He was waiting with this usual patience of his, as if he had all the time in the world to wait for Louis to answer. Had forever to listen to him, forever to wait for him. Louis ignored the stirring feeling of guilt in his guts. Mixed with the stinging feeling of anxieties, of course. Louis swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn't let Harry - or himself - wait any longer; hesitantly opening his mouth, Louis forced the beating of his heart to slow down.

 "I want you to pop my cherry." He muttered, his hand covering the lower half of his face, trying to hide the blooming red colour of his cheeks, his back slightly bent forward and face turned toward the floor. He didn't dare look at Harry, knowing he'd be twisting and turning his rings as he usually did whenever he felt uncomfortable or stressed, his browns furrowed and eyes looking slightly terrified. Probably terrified of the mere thought of having to put Louis underneath himself. Louis wanted to punch the awful feeling in his stomach. The room was worryingly quiet, other than the sound of their breathing and the quiet hum of cars roaming around outside the building.

 " _What_?" Harry said, breaking the muted silence.

 Louis blinked. Harry wasn't twisting his rings or furrowing his brows when he let the hand in front of his face hesitantly fall; he looked lost and a bit puzzled, a slight smirk lingering on his lips, curved in a way that made him look unsure and somewhat curious. Louis' licked his lips, straightening himself. "What do you mean by _what_?" Louis silently scoffed, cursing his heart for maintaining its harsh rhythm against his ribs.

 "I don't get what you're asking." Harry stated, bending forward and entwining those hands of his, fingers adorned with those _annoying_ rings that he kept wearing. Louis ignored the fact that he enjoyed twisting and turning them himself, liked playing with them when no one was around to catch him staring at them; other than Harry of course, who gladly handed them over for Louis to try on or throw away, for the sake of trying to get on Harry's bad side. He hadn't succeeded so far.

 Harry was getting on Louis' bad side by being so annoyingly oblivious, though. Louis fought the urge to punch the taller man when he raised a brow, trying to push an explanation out of the shorter man. _Annoying._

Louis inwardly cursed himself for doing this to his poor heart.

 "I want you to--" _Fuck me, perhaps._

 "--like, give it to me," Louis mumbled, shaking his head at his own words. _Coward_.

 Harry seemed to be just as oblivious as before, leaning his head in his palms, elbows resting on his knees. Harry's eyes had faded from confused to a little bored, mouth threatening to spill a yawn. Louis _definitely_ wanted punch him. Louis tugged gallingly at his shirt, before crossing his arms to prevent himself from ripping it apart as Harry spilled a yawn. Cars kept honking and rumbling outside the window, the light from outside seeping inside when Harry stood from his seat, pulling back one of the curtains. Peeking out, Harry sighed before letting the curtain fall back to cover the window. Pulling out his phone, Harry scowled at it when it seemed to be dying, catching the sight of the time and gazing back at Louis’ frame with bored eyes. Louis stood frozen in irritation, fingers clawing at his skin.

 "Listen, _Dirty Dancing_ is going to be on in less than 10 minutes, so if we're done--"

 Louis cut him of with a loud groan, arms falling to his sides, hands clenching into fists.

 "Oh, for god’s sake, Harry-- I want you to _fuck me_ ,"

 Louis regretted it the second he spilled those words. Regretted walking over to Paul to beg for the room number and the spare key, regretted the _stupid_ decision to walk up two flights of stairs to lock himself into a pitch black room, and definitely regretted the decision to spare Harry a glance after saying those stupid, _fucking_ _idiotic_ words. He couldn't quite describe the look on his face as anything but neutral. Scarily neutral as well, as blank as a paper before his face flashed with expressions, emotions and thoughts receiving instructions - Harry frowned.

 "You-- why?" He replied, a surprised tone to his voice, tinted with questions he didn’t seem to have the courage to ask. Louis’ shoulders tensed, “Do you have to ask?” He mumbled, fists reaching for the hem of his shirt again, tugging at the fabric.

 “Yes,” Harry stood frozen, almost as tense but definitely as awkward as Louis, hands struggling to occupy themselves. “This is really sudden.” He huffed. Louis wishes he hadn’t woken up this morning.

 “I’m going to sound like a prepubescent kid,” he argued, nails scratching his inked forearm in a stressful matter. He’d given up on slowing the beat of his heart, letting it wrestle around as the thick air strangled it with tension. He’d also ignored the fact that Harry wasn’t wearing any _pants_ from the minute he’d stepped into the room. His boxers were temptingly tight, and Louis wanted to snap the hem of it against Harry’s hipbone, preferably harshly and painfully. He also wanted to snap one of Harry’s bones for pushing words out of him, though.

 Harry weren’t going to let it go and the expression on his face was forcing answers out of Louis’ mouth. Louis hated himself.

 “I watched a movie and it-- it turned me on,” Louis hated the world, “--and I’m officially sick of being a virgin.” But most of all, Louis hated _Harry_. It’s his fault, it’s his entire _fucking fault_ , with his stupid curls and annoying rings and _it’s his fault._ His fault that Louis finds him somewhat acceptable to take his cherry and pop the hell out of it, his fault that he’s attractive and probably the main reason to why Louis is going gay. _Louis_ _hated_ _everything_.

 Harry raised his brows in surprise before frowning in confusion. “You’re a-- _a_ _virgin_?” He stuttered, looking a bit thrown aback by the shorter man’s statement. Louis struggled to hide the embarrassment that flushed across his face.

“But you’ve been dating--“

 “We never _did_ anything,” Louis hurriedly said, cutting the man off once again to avert him from even saying her name. There was a reason to why he hadn’t seen her in three months.

 Harry silenced at that.

 He looked like he was torn between laughing and comforting him, but of course he wouldn’t laugh, because he’s _Harry_. And of course he didn’t, instead he crossed the room to stand in front of the flushed shorter man that wanted to punch him in the face, staring curiously down at him like a puppy.

 “Okay.” He said, hushed and somewhat private, staring with such soft eyes, making Louis’ shoulders fall into a less defensive state. Louis blinked at him, a slight shock to actually get a positive answer.

 “You’re-- is that a yes?” he questioned, watching Harry nod and feeling the familiar lump of fear bob in his throat when he swallowed thickly.

 It was much more serious than Louis had expected it to be. A lot more tensed as Harry invited him to sit by him at the end of the bed, arms kind of stiff and hands shaking slightly in fear of failure, scared of doing something wrong, something that would make this a lot more awkward than it already was.

 “How do you want to start?” Harry asked, looking secure and sort of confident, different than before and somewhat reassuring. Louis let his eyes fall towards to the plumb of Harry’s lips, sweeping his tongue across his lips, eyes focusing back on Harry’s. He got the point. “Kissing? Like foreplay then?” the curly haired man said, Louis nodding hesitatingly.

 “Whatever that is.” He scoffed, his voice hesitant, similar to the unsure beating of his heart and heated cheeks. Harry laughed quietly, letting the room fall silent as the thick air strangled his laugh.

 “Let’s try not to make this somewhat rehearsed,” he softly uttered, head turning towards Louis and eyes just as soft as his voice, deep and rich with comprehension. Understanding to why Louis was avoiding his eyes and looking slightly pale, shoulders as edgy as before.

 Louis snapped out of his anxious state with Harry’s warm hand touching his knee, allowing himself to meet his eyes with embarrassingly rosy cheeks and red bitten lips. His heart was having a seizure, beating so blisteringly hard against his ribs that it might’ve threatened to burst out of his chest.

 Harry’s stare was so self-assured that it made Louis feel so painfully small, like Harry could easily wreck and break him. It shouldn’t have been as arousing as it was.

 "Is this okay?” Harry murmured, Louis’ eyes glued to Harry’s green irises, quite disbelievingly to just how close he was, leaning closer and closer by the second, Louis’ heart boiling hotter and hotter by millisecond. He nodded, quick and sharp, watching as Harry allowed himself to inch his body closer. His hands caged Louis’ frame, palms resting beside Louis’ hips on the soft sheets. Louis had turned in his seat, sitting with his knees bent and his arms struggling to place themselves on anything other than his thighs.

 Louis’ skin erupted with goose bumps as Harry brushed his nose against his own, his breathing delightfully cold against his lips. Louis might’ve spaced out for a little, plumb lips so firm and _soft_ against his own, Harry’s hands brushing lightly over his knees, so invitingand careful that he might cry.

 Louis wanted _more_.

 “Just tell me to stop if it’s too rough or too much,” Harry breathed, waiting for Louis to nod in agreement. He was muted by the gentle touches of Harry’s hands making their way up his thighs, hands kneading into the flesh with precision, making Louis shiver as his nails scratched against the fabric of his jeans.

 Louis sort of hated and sort of loved that he felt so put and slack underneath Harry’s hands. Sort of wanted to punch him for making him feel so desperate, but at the same time wanted to snog the hell out of him for doing so. His bones felt like they were crunching and smouldering into pieces, leaving him boneless and accepting to Harry’s question to lay him down, his back on the sheets and face towards the ceiling. And his jeans were _tight._

 A lot tighter than usual, and somewhat suffocating; he needed to get it off, wanted to get it off his skin, let the thick and intimate air flush against him. Harry must’ve listened to his thoughts, long and skilled fingers unbuttoning his jeans and dragging them down his legs, brushing the rough skin of his fingers against Louis’ tan thighs, making the boy gag on a sharp gasp. It wasn’t _fair_. Wasn’t fair that Louis couldn’t do anything but lay there, hands unable to place themselves and thighs hungry for Harry’s mouth and purple bruises.

 Louis wanted Harry to _ravish_ him. Craved the feeling of his hands clawing at his thighs, wanted to feel him tomorrow morning, skin aching and heart still a bit overwhelmed and boiling.

 The sight of Harry inching his fingers along the hem of Louis’ boxers could’ve been enough to throw him over the edge, but he wouldn’t-- not yet, at least. He didn’t want to end it this soon, wanted to treasure the sight and the feeling of Harry’s hands, his rings cold against his skin.

 Harry’s boxers looked obscenely tight, like another layer of skin plastered across his hips and thighs, his cock pressing stubbornly against the fabric. Louis wanted to taste him.

 “I--“ Louis swallowed his words, his head not quite used to this trail of thoughts. Harry stilled his movements, leaning back on his feet, letting his hands rest on Louis’ hips, underneath the fabric of his shirt. Louis couldn’t have any of that.

 He nodded towards Harry’s shirt, eyes begging for him to understand, which he did. Throwing the fabric away, Harry then motioned towards the maroon red shirt that covered the upper half of Louis’ body, the colour quite alike the bloom in the boy’s cheeks. Louis nodded though, finally moving his hands and arms to get it off of him as fast as possible.

 Lessening the amount of clothing didn’t really lessen the heat. If anything it might’ve made it worse, leaving Louis breathless and quite lost. But he knew what he wanted, eyes locked on the bulge in front of him.

 “Can I-- like, suck you off?” Louis could visibly see Harry swallow thickly, looking surprised and oddly eager.

 “I-- yeah, yeah-- sure,” he sputtered, moving away from Louis’ body, slumping gracefully down on the mattress beside him, waiting for what’s to come. Louis forced his slightly paralyzed limbs to listen to his commands, inching away from the reassuring heat of the sheets and onto his knees between Harry’s legs, looking slightly terrified but determined.

 “You don’t have to do this,” Harry had obviously read the look on his face. But Louis wanted this, knew he could. Damn him.

 “Shut up.” He mumbled, diving into the feeling of Harry’s cock in his hand by palming him through his boxers, loving the hiss of delight that Harry spilled. Louis had put the scalding warmth in his veins on wait, ignoring the fact that he couldn’t _breathe_ properly, in favour of touching the man in front of him. Ignored the fact that his hand couldn’t place itself on anything but Harry’s cock, not that that was a necessarily a _bad_ thing.

 Harry looked happy about it, at least. Leaning on his elbows to make sure Louis was doing alright, eyes glancing from his eyes to his hands again and again, reading his movements as of not to push him into anything he might find uncomfortable. His lips parted in a low groan as Louis’ hands pushed his boxers down his thighs and off his giraffe like legs, throwing them carelessly over his shoulder.

  _Determined_. That’s what Louis was, as he took Harry’s cock in his hand, settling at the base with a somewhat shallow grip, blinking in surprise at the _size_ of the erection his fingers were holding. How the _hell_ was that thing supposed to fit inside of him-- or in his _mouth_?

Louis thought he was being a good sport as he lapped his tongue against the head, dipping into the slit and trailing down his shaft in smooth and swift motions. He did cringe slightly at the unfamiliar taste of precum, but the sight of Harry’s eyes fighting to keep themselves open was enough to make him dive into the taste once again.

 Letting his lips close around the head, Louis inhaled heavily, dipping towards the base. He got nearly halfway before he chocked, pulling off with teary eyes and a string of salvia trailing down the left side of his mouth. He inched down on his length again, the ache in his jaw making him pull of once more. Louis frustratingly widened his mouth, and despite his jaw’s protest, he inched down halfway, resting there for a bit before settling on tonguing at the head of Harry’s cock. Harry groaned, hips unable to stay still at the delicious fever of lust that made the man’s head somewhat airy.

 “Oh, _Christ_ \-- I’m going to come if you keep going,” he hissed, allowing himself to tug at Louis’ hair. Off and away from his cock, in favour of letting their lips meet in a teeth-clattering kiss, dominated by gorilla-sized hands tilting Louis’ head to the side in order to dive his tongue down his throat.

 “On your stomach,” Harry muttered as he pulled away, breathing against his jaw line before letting the man roll away from him. Louis obliged, silent as he slid into place, grinding his cock softly against the sheets. Large hands stilled his moves, gripping his sides gently.

 Harry’s fingers grazed against the hem of Louis’ boxers, a silent question that Louis answered with a nod, staring at Harry’s eyes as he slid the fabric off his body. He sort of loved the fact that his eyes literally shone with the sight of him, blinking in awe. Harry threw his boxers away, hands looking stressed and quite awkward.

 Louis felt his stare burn against the tan flesh of his bum, leaving trails of a blooming red colour in his cheeks.

 “Stop staring,” He mumbled against his inked forearm, arms folded on top of each other to shield his rosy red face. Louis _hated_ Harry.

 “Sorry, sorry-- it’s just--“ the taller man huffed out a laugh, “--you’re really fit.”

 Louis might’ve lost his breath for a second, and he might’ve widened his eyes at the compliment, but he most certainly felt his heart grow a bit bigger in order to fit someone new in there.

 “T-thanks,” _I guess?_

Louis was sort of lost for words as Harry asked for permission to touch him - which he agreed to with sharp nod - but his thoughts were clouded as large and warmhands slid gently up his sides, which usually would’ve made him laugh. _Ticklish_.

 But it was something different. It wasn’t the same touches Harry would spare him in order to make him laugh, which was both loud and full of smiles; this was making Louis inch into his hands, closing his eyes in pleasure, finger kneading carefully at the flesh of his hips. Harry was _touching_ him and Louis _loved_ it.

 Louis did open his eyes when Harry hesitatingly let his hands fall to him bum, kind of awkwardly resting on the heated skin, testing the boundaries by squeezing the plumb flesh. Louis embarrassingly spilled a quiet moan. Harry did it again, circling the motion and pushing small sounds out of the slightly overwhelmed man lying underneath him.

 Harry was silent as he dragged the rough pad of his forefinger across his rim, judging by Louis’ sharp and surprised gasp that he indeed should grab the lube. Harry stretched himself across the man’s body, opening the bedside drawer, hoisting the lube and a foiled condom out of it before closing it.

 Louis twitched as Harry drizzled the cold liquid over his hole, falling back into place when two fingers rubbed softly across it, smearing it around the sensitive rim. He hissed at the unfamiliarity as a finger inched into his heat, barely reaching the second knuckle before he had to ask Harry to slow down.

 “Sorry, it’s just-- it’s weird,” he huffed, flicking his fringe off his sweaty forehead, turning his head to watch Harry get back to work with a slow rhythm. As he buried his forefinger to the third knuckle inside the smaller man, Louis groaned for him to move on with his task. He jerked a moan out of Louis as he curled his finger, the pad of his finger rubbing against his prostate. Louis latched his teeth onto his knuckles, Harry gingerly adding another digit.

 Louis might’ve cried at the feeling, an unusual stretch that felt so delightfully painful and arousing, two fingers stroking his sweetest and untouched spot so tenderly. He desperately pushed back onto Harry’s fingers when he inched them out, hiding his face in the crook of his arm when three entered again, biting his lip to prevent himself from spilling his cries.

 Harry’s free hand settled at the dip of his back, pressing Louis against the sheets as he sped up the movements of his hand, curling them exactly the way he needed to rub against the sensitive nub. Jerking his hand and letting his fingers prevent himself from pulling out, the curl of Harry’s digits worked as some sort of hook; Louis cried, loud and arousing, a surprised whine filling the ever so silent room.

 Harry took that as his cue to continue, rubbing his fingers against his prostate whilst jerking his fingers halfway out and entering again with a sharp lurch, drawing a string of profanities out of the smaller man’s mouth. He stilled his movements when Louis stretched an arm around towards him, clutching his fingers around his wrist, a mewling moan begging him to stop.

 “Not yet-- just, _wait_ ,” he pleaded, light headed and seconds away from coming; but _not yet._

 Harry did wait, though. He eventually pulled his fingers out, drying them off on the sheets, running his hands calmly over Louis’ back, letting his knuckles brush against his spine as the smaller man breathed shallowly against his forearm.

 “You’re doing good,” he breathed, kneading his palms into Louis’ shoulder blades.

 “Stop praising me, I’m not a damn _dog_ ,” Louis half-heartily snorted, laughing breathlessly against his folded arms. He let himself relax at the sound of Harry laughing along with him, the man punctuating the sound with a sigh and a hand gingerly tugging at the hair by his nape.

 “Do you want to keep going?” Harry asked, the hint of hesitation in his voice lingering in Louis’ stomach, the same warm feeling of being cared for holing his heart and making his head burst with thoughts he couldn’t quite explain. “I-- yeah.” He replied. Louis couldn’t quite recognize the softness in his own voice as something familiar.

 Harry nudged his thigh with the back of his hand, helping Louis turn over with his fingers digging gently into his hips. Louis watched his hands linger at his skin before they worked the foil of the lubricated condom, dragging the rubber down his shaft with a tight grip, as if to ease off the heat that had gathered itself in his stomach. Louis had felt the same heat ease off of him with the few minutes he’d been given to breathe; but the sweet sensation was still tying knots in his stomach by the sight of Harry steadying himself on his knees and hovering his broad body over him, as he was an animal who’d just found its prey. Strong and solid arms dipped into the mattress by Louis’ head, one arm at each side of his skull, caging him in the most delightful and somewhat dominate way.

 The roles felt somewhat reversed; Louis wasn’t the one in charge as Harry snaked one of his hands away, wrapping his fingers around the base of his lubricated cock, cautiously inching himself into Louis’ heat with a low groan of relief. Louis could’ve screamed at the stretch, both in pain and in bliss at just how achingly good it was, and Harry wasn’t even _halfway in._ He must’ve spilled a noise that was similar to the thoughts of bliss inside his head, since Harry wasn’t pushing the breaks as he let his arm fall back in place by his head, onto his elbows, charging himself to inch all the way in with a single trust.

 Which he did, head falling the Louis’ neck as the man underneath him squealed feeling of suddenly being so full of him, Harry’s hips against his bum, waiting for some sort of sign from the breathless man.

Louis had to remind himself of how breathing worked at the feeling of Harry’s length being buried inside of him. Harry’s hair was tickling his chin, lips kissing and teeth nipping at the skin of his neck and collarbones. _Inhale, exhale._

Harry smelled like a mix of flowers and cologne he couldn’t quite pinpoint as anything but something new. Louis inhaled his smell with a harsh drag, letting his fingers detangle themselves from the scrunched sheets in favour of tangling them in the mess of curls, tugging at them to get Harry going with his act. The first thrust was like a punch in the face, his hips harshly and sharply kicking it off by snapping in and out of him, stilling themselves for a minute, before doing the same thing again when Louis made no other sounds than a helpless moan and a high-pitched whine. He let one of his hands fall from Harry’s curls to the sheets again, to prevent him from ripping his hair out at the next row of thrust that came crashing down like bricks to his sensitive and stretched hole.

 He didn’t complain, though, cause this is exactly what Louis wanted; he wanted to feel used and wrecked in the morning, wanted to feel the aftermath of this, even if that meant he’d be unable to sit properly for a few days; wanted people to question the glint in his eyes, his waddling walk and the sharp red colour in his cheeks.

 The snap of Harry’s hips faded into a steady rhythm of deep and quick thrusts, aiming for Louis’ prostate, which he figured he must’ve found judged by the way Louis jolted and squeaked in pleasure, the fingers still tangled around Harry’s hair tugging furiously and desperately at the curly strands.

 Louis thighs flexed, muscles straining and tugging his clouded mind into a somewhat awoken state, the man realizing that he wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t _breathing_ and Harry had just hit his prostate dead on with such a harsh rhythm that he struggled to keep his thighs from trembling, _and_ _Harry was inside of him_.

 Harry was thrusting with all his might straight against his prostate, and _Louis couldn’t catch his breath_ if only for a second or two. Harry teeth were scratching over his pulse as Louis’ head lolled back, chin facing the ceiling and eyes rolling back into his skull. Harry must’ve been unable to fight the urge to leave trails of himself on Louis’ appearance, other than the prints of his fingertips against the man’s hipbones, forcefully pressing bruises into the tan skin. He licked and nipped a purple bite at the crook of Louis’ neck, his low moans puffing cold air against the bitten skin.

 Louis felt like he’d eventually explode if Harry were to continue thrusting so restlessly into him, as if he was a colourful balloon, and Harry was the needle inching closer and closer to the plastic. The comparison was oddly spot-on to just how Louis felt, _full_ and if he were to get any fuller, he’d _explode_.

 He managed to slow Harry down with one of his quivering hands pushing delicately at his hip, causing him to get out of his steady rhythm; Harry’s face looked lost, _in a good way._ He looked like he was actually enjoying himself despite the circumstances and the whole awkward talk they’d had before Louis had laid down and was now unable to do anything but whine for more. He looked pleased, aroused and a little longing, eyes darting down to Louis lips a couple of times before he allowed himself to let their lips seal.

 Louis was struggling to keep his eyes open, the sweet pressure against his prostate pouring more warmth into his veins, making it hard to do anything but breathe pathetically and pleadingly against Harry’s jaw. This warmth was nearly killing him, so painfully sweet and good that he feared he might burn himself if he weren’t given a release. Harry must’ve read his thoughts, one of his hands quickly and skilfully wrapping around his cock, tugging fiercely to make Louis fall over the edge.

 Eventually, he did. And it felt as if he was floating, his back arching off the mattress in a gentle but sharp curve, hands nearly tugging Harry’s hair off. His throat burnt with words he couldn’t spill, something to express how marvellously _good_ it was to feel someone so close. He stuck to his rows of high-pitched gasps and moans for Harry to _keep going_ , and profanities that burnt his throat, what with how loud he was wailing them through the ever so silent room.

 Harry listened. He _always_ did, always wanted to do as Louis told him. He kept going, kept his rhythm until he too felt like he could explode within mere seconds, burring himself deep inside Louis with a grunt. He latched his lips onto Louis’ collarbone to silence himself, coming inside the condom with warm hot streaks, like the ones painting a picture of pure pleasure across Louis’ abdomen and chest.

 He breathed against Louis’ fiery skin, his cold puffs of air making the throbbing in Louis’ head ease a bit. The taller man had collapsed on top of him, his smaller frame swallowed by long limbs and broad shoulders, but he didn’t mind; Louis was okay with this. He was okay with the feeling of Harry going limp inside of him, despite the fact that it was slightly uncomfortable. He was okay with Harry’s curls tickling his chin, and that Harry’s lips were unable to stop smooching kisses into his boiling skin, as if to soothe him.

 He was okay with it, cause he wanted it to be this way, wanted it to _end_ this way, as long as it could happen again. It’d be fine, as long as Harry would touch him again tomorrow, and the day after that, with the same gentle but confident fingers, as long as he wouldn’t run off as soon as he pulled out with a sigh and a hand waving towards the door.

 And of course he didn’t. He would never do that; cause Harry was too caring and protecting, too open-minded and too great of a listener to leave Louis alone with such a nut to solve - cause what had Louis actually done? Had he wanted this, or had he actually forced himself to do this? Was he actually okay with Harry lying like a big oaf on top of him? Were the thoughts filling his head voluntary or forced-- and _why_ was his heart still beating harshly against his ribs, threating to give in to something he couldn’t quite explain? And why--

 “Stop thinking.”

 Louis mind fell silent at that. Harry inched out of him and off of him, slumping onto his back beside him, his words lingering confusingly around in Louis’ head. He chose to stay quiet, the man tugging the condom off and tying it up, throwing it away, making Louis’ nose crunch in disgust.

 “I’m not going to run off,” Harry mumbled, entwining his fingers and splaying the across his stomach, starring at the celling. Louis did the same, though his hands weren’t able to let of the sheets just yet. He nodded, not letting his eyes stare at anything but the white painting. The dimmed room made the colour look warmer, as inviting as the stare Louis knew Harry was currently giving him. He knew that Harry’s eyes were staring at him, trying to use his not so magical powers to read his mind.

 “Stop staring.” Louis sighed, letting his slightly less quivering hand push Harry’s face away, hearing the man huff out a low laugh.

 “You didn’t stop thinking,” he snorted. “It’s only fair that I get to stare.” Harry’s stare were back at Louis’ face, just gazing at the man with somewhat fascinated eyes, his body twisted sideways, the man leaning his weight on his elbow. Louis obliged to Harry’s statement, cause he honestly hadn’t stopped. Louis hated the fact that his breathing seemed to be unable to stop being so erratic and panicked, and the way his heart slammed against his ribs, the hammering sound echoing through his head. He hated the fact that couldn’t _calm down_ , hated that he wasn’t brave enough to reach out for Harry’s hand, despite how close he was.

 He jumped when Harry forcefully tugged him by his left arm into his embrace, one hand at the back of his head and the other wrapped around his waist. Louis blinked, head suddenly laying against Harry’s chest, his hands looking for directions and his mind clouded with suggestions and pathetic explanations to _why_ the beat of Harry’s heart was so rapid and stressed; he was supposed to be the confident one, the one dealing with this with such ease and knowledge that Louis was yet to find-- but the man’s chest was thumping loudly in his head, the fleet rhythm much like the one buried inside Louis’ own chest.

 Harry’s embrace was warm, comforting and _whole-hearted,_ like he really wanted to hold Louis in his arms just for the sake of soothing him-- like he knew that the man was struggling to place himself, hence the sudden tight and breathtakingly good embrace. His arms were _strong_ , firm around him as if to shield Louis from whatever was going on in his head. It did help, though; Louis’ shoulders went slack and his hands fitted themselves around Harry’s waist, head settling more into place. But the pounding of his heart wasn’t thawing, flushing boiling warmth into his veins again and again, his head filled with hopeful thoughts for the morning that would follow.

 Harry wouldn’t leave, he _certainly_ wouldn’t, the man was too kind-hearted to do such. He’d even said so; with what Louis thought was a promising twist to his voice. He sounded like he actually meant it, and the tight wrap of his arms around him sort of wrapped the thought inside his head. Louis wasn’t going to wake up alone, with an awkward feeling in his guts and an empty slot in his chest.

 He was almost positive he’d wake up like this, his heart probably pounding just as harshly, with Harry’s curls tickling his ear and the smell of sweat combined with the smell of dried cum. They should’ve cleaned themselves before they fell asleep.

 But it didn’t really matter, as long as it lead to a morning with the both of them shampooing the other’s hair in the cramped hotel bathroom. Which it did, expect that Louis’ back was pressed against the white tiles, his legs wrapped around Harry’s waist and the latter’s cock up his ass, last night’s kisses not as clouded as before, but the feeling just as overwhelmingly good.

 And if Louis were to rip the shower curtain off its hooks, then it was the taller man’s fault for driving him into two orgasms despite the cold water showering them.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to start this off by saying thank you to fucksinglelouis on Tumblr for giving me this prompt, for the Bottom Louis Exchange. 
> 
> I was supposed to post this a weeks ago, but had to rewrite this over and over again, since it never turned out as I wanted. I'm still not that happy with this, but I'm posting this to get moving with my other works, and because it's about time that I do. And also, the term _pop my cherry_ means the first time you experience something, usually sexual intercourse, to those of you who might be wondering. 
> 
> And if you are to question what sort of movie Louis was watching, then I'll have you know that he was watching a non-existent movie, also known as _I-made-up-the-entire-thing._
> 
> Do know that this is by no means tied to the reality, this is entirely fictional, cause _honestly_ \- in what reality is Louis Tomlinson a _virgin?_
> 
> The ending might be a bit rushed, but I was at the verge of giving up on this, so I just rolled with it. Hope you enjoyed this, feel free to follow me on Tumblr and Twitter;
> 
> 23bottoms.tumblr.com  
> &  
> @wwwlouisdotcom


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